Start with the Navin Brothers (Frank and John) and then add plenty of friends. But never get away from the Navins and their unusual and inspired take on pop music.

Very collage-y, each song is a collection of elements that creates more of a mixture than a solution. The final synthesis has to happen in your mind. You have to accept all of the extraneous information and let it coalesce somewhere within you.

Active music in every sense of the word. Challenging, lyrically as well as musically. These aren't difficult tunes to like; the eccentricities aren't pronounced enough to turn a listener off. Just imagine some highly-skilled tinkerers nailing together beautiful new shells around the early 70s pop sound.

The attention to detail is what sets the Aluminum Group apart. Every little snippet of sound is exactly where it should be. And instead of creating a stilted air, that precision provides clear openings into the heart of the songs. Let it burble into your soul.

Some unreleased tracks and unreleased versions of songs from the Independence Day sessions along with a number of live takes.

The session tracks haven't been cleaned up much; they're kinda rough and grungy. That unproduced quality does add some gravity to the fairly light version of hardcore that the Bruisers espouse.

The live tracks are taken from three different events. The cleanest sounding songs were recorded at WUNH. Almost clinical in their tightness. The club live songs are much muddier; at times the guitar is just a roar.

Decent fare, though it doesn't really inspire me. The Bruisers have a nice feel on the sound, but somewhere between the writing and the playing some energy got lost. Crank it up, boys.

Harp-driven blues with plenty of soul. Most songs are stuck right in between a shuffle and the boogie. And while the Coots do feature an electric piano, the sound is nice and sparse.

Classic, really. The piano and bass sometimes click into jazz modes, but again, a classic and not fusion style. In any case, blues bands generally sound solid or contrived. The Coots are dead solid.

That sparse sound I mentioned is also a result of the writing. The songs don't try to overpower. Instead, the power is in what's not played, what's not said. Almost spooky, which is always fine blues territory.

The songs just keep rolling it at that just-past-mid tempo feel, about what's right for this kinda stuff. This album doesn't have any clunkers. A whale-load of passion and soul, but no sour notes. Blues for wallowing.

Another trip to the dark side. Coph Nia issues forth some wonderful black music. Soundscapes with a light touch, spoken vocals (with faux-chanted accompaniment).

Spooky, particularly when the vocals go away for a while. Coph Nia is probably at its best when it brings in sonic elements out of the darkness, a shriek here or a swoop there. A haunting quality that's pretty damned tough to achieve.

Surprise is what's necessary, and Coph Nia sets the stage for fright quite well, lulling the listener into a false sense of security right before lowering the boom. Listening to this album is like walking through a dark forest, not knowing what lies two steps ahead.

To keep that up for an hour is impressive. Coph Nia doesn't really break new ground, but its execution here is impeccable. Exciting and frightening fare. Quite the thrill ride.

Riding the modern edge of the extreme, Damaged combines the full-throated aggression of old school death metal with the somewhat more hyper intensity of bands like Hatebreed and Earth Crisis.

These guys almost always find their groove, too. The songs are tight and generally short, focusing on one musical thought at a time. That keeps the focus lean and the intent mean.

Sharply-produced, too, which leaves the sound fast and crunchy. Not a mess by any means, Damaged has some ace players who can play well even as the tempos spin faster and faster.

Yeah, it's just a modern sheen on an old sound. But boy, it sounds great. Damaged knows what it's doing and it does this oh-so-well. Top notch aggression.

Acoustic guitar-driven rock, very much influenced by Neil Young. Jason Darling acknowledges as much with the first song, placing Young dead center in the piece.

But the real link is the poetic way Darling expresses himself. The lyrics (and the guitar work, occasionally) don't always follow an obvious linear track. The stuff can get a bit expressionistic at times.

The only way to make that work is for the poetry to resolve itself. In other words, the shit had better be good. And Darling is. He slings his songs with a easy intensity, the kind of delivery that's impossible to teach. He is his songs.

Kinda cool when that sorta thing works out. There aren't many people who can pull off an ambitious set of songs like this. Hell, most wouldn't even try. Darling succeeds in spectacular fashion.

Eddie Def back in the house on this, the third of five planned Drum Machine Technicians outings. As with the first two discs, the beat work here is nothing less than spectacular.

But this one is more like DJ Cue's C4 album in that it focuses more on simple beats than on coherent songs. Great for the DJs and beat freaks, less so for the average fan.

Even so, the scope and inventiveness is breathtaking. There's no getting around the fertile creativity that abounds on this album. This puppy pulsates with abundant life.

Which makes it hard for me to say anything against it. Maybe these pieces aren't quite finished. I don't think they're supposed to be anything other than extended beat explorations. And on that level, this disc is superb.

This is, supposedly, a live recording. But Style Scott and his entourage have created a live album without any input from the crowd. Instead, this is more of a live-to-tape studio effort recorded at a club.

And it works. There is the improvisational feel inimical to good live albums and also the astonishing clarity that most folks can only find in a studio. These songs are tightly plotted and executed, but they still shine with a vital sparkle.

Style Scott has said that he wants Dub Syndicate to be the Pink Floyd of reggae. The Floyd's influence hangs heavy over these songs, but without smothering them. The band has managed to take the inventive electronic ideas without also incorporating the ponderous bloat.

I would hesitate to call this "live." Oh, sure, it is, but only in the strictest of senses. No matter. The album is of the highest quality, merely another way to approach the evolving theory of the Dub Syndicate. Tap in and get wired.

Not afraid to drop pop references into a crunch punk sound, Fetish rambles through a fine set of well-textured tunes. The writing is much more crafted than the usual punk ethos, and the playing is nice and tight.

So is it punk? Well, yeah, kinda. There is a certain energy, and the guitar sound just screams punk. The construction and production? Much more and of a higher quality than expected.

Along with that added sheen is just a touch of glam metal riffage. The slightest hint of trashy fun and outright silliness. These boys don't take themselves too seriously.

Which is the best way to play this kinda tuneage, I'd say. Let the stuff bound about and keep on smilin'. Don't worry about how people categorize it. After, it's your music. Fetish gives this one the hard sell, and that works quite well.

Chris Broach of Braid and some pals finally make this "side project" the main event. Stark yet energetic guitar lines draw thin musical pictures, images that change just about every second.

Imagine a sparsely-populated emo sound, built up from a drum machine. Not quite ... anything in particular. Many things at once, and sometimes nothing at all. The holes in the sound hold the secrets.

This does sound incomplete, as if the Firebird Band laid down the first pieces of a few demos. The songs rarely express coherent, full thoughts, preferring to just slash away with shards of ideas.

Making this a challenging listen. Getting inside the holes is the thing, and if you can do that, you just might figure out what the Firebird band is trying to say in the first place. I'm not quite there, but damned if I'm not gonna keep trying.

Punkers posing as a bar band. Following in the fine tradition of the New Bomb Turks and others who went before, Gaza Strippers bash about giddily, not bothering to do something silly like "get serious."

Nope. Just a full-throttle, full-throated attack. Guitars on top, tuneful hollers in the middle and a churning rhythm section. The sorta sound that translates best live. These songs are made for the stage.

And when the volume is just right (somewhere between "pain" and "deafness"), that live feel can be appreciated in the comfort of your own home. I've gotta admit, the louder I cranked the stereo, the better this stuff got. Subtlety isn't on the menu.

But a crash course in fun sure is. Gaza Strippers knows how to deal the volume. The riffage is in full bloom, and the bees are buzzing all over the place. My blood is on fire.

I'll say it: Gothica is a stupid name. The folks really do need to come up with something better than that. It is generally descriptive, as the faux-baroque musical settings and ethereal vocals do sound awfully goth. But still.

And after a while, the stock arrangements and ideas do get old. Gothica may be trying to be the ultimate goth band, but it mostly succeeds in presenting a rehash of old ideas. There's just not much "here" here.

The sound is acceptable, lodged firmly in between the lush and the stark. About right for the music, really, without adding anything. And something definitely needed to be added to these ideas. They're just not original enough.

Or, to put it mildly, Gothica isn't the Metallica of goth. I know, who wants to be? Well, it would be better than this middling set. Just nothing here that excites.

Perhaps the strangest show I ever saw was Stormandstress, High Llamas and Trans Am at the 9:30 Club in D.C. The crowd completely recycled for each band (more cash for the club, which might explain the odd bill), and the few fans that showed up for one of the others appeared confused. In particular, High Llamas' tightly-controlled, lush pop is about as far away from Stormandstress' lean improvisations as I can imagine.

High Llamas obsess on the details. I've never seen so many keyboards on one stage as I did that evening. To even come close to replicating the complex studio sound, I guess you do need a phalanx of electronic hardware.

This is one of those bands you either get or don't. If Brian Wilson's intense vision of tightly-layered harmonies and intricately-crafted music doesn't excite you, well, go somewhere else. Fans will buys this no matter what my judgment is. That's just the way cult bands like the Llamas are.

For the record, it sounds to me like the Llamas are stagnating somewhat. The songs sparkle, but it's the same sort of shimmer I've heard before from the guys. After a while, the stuff does begin to run together. Oh, it's achingly gorgeous. No doubt about that. But beauty without counterpoint can get dull sometimes.

Highly-distorted electronic musings mixed with straight modulated electronic disturbances. The kind of thing I like to torment my co-workers with every now and again when I can pull something truly strange down off Napster.

Institut actually is a bit closer to the DHR sound than plain noise, as there is usually something resembling a regular rhythm to each piece. There's also wave after wave of blistering distortion, but that's just on top. Underneath, there's actually some order.

Which may, in the end, make this mildly palatable to folks on the outer edge of the general public. Those who already dig this sort of sound will probably like the way the folks use that distortion as a melodic element from time to time. It's pretty cool, actually.

Sure, this is the sort of thing that gives Luddites plenty of philosophical ammunition. Life goes on. Sometimes, you've got to endure a little pain. Sometimes, the pain feels really good.

Gregory Isaacs is preparing to turn over the family franchise to his son, Kevin. On this disc, They share writing and singing duties, alternating tracks on vocals. The weird thing about it is that there are only eight musical tracks here among the 16 songs.

Let's see how I can explain this better. First Gregory sings a song over a particular backing track. Then Kevin sings a different song (a different title with different lyrics) over the same backing track.

An interesting idea, though the sound of the music epitomizes low-rent recording to the hilt. There's a drum machine and a couple keyboards. Probably a bassist. And it's produced to sound rather slight and tinny. Really, this doesn't sound good at all.

As for the alternating conceit, well, it works out alright. Kevin's voice is clearer and stronger than his father's. But these songs don't do either justice. There's just not much here.

JustSayJoe is Joe Moss, who's also behind the startup of UndiscoveredMusic.com. He's an unabashed fan of Tom Petty, Jimmy Buffet, CSN&Y and folk-country-island rock in general, with more than a nod to Motown. If that makes sense.

Certainly, his music flows straight from his influences. Moss doesn't steal (or even borrow) a thing; he's worked very hard to try and craft his own sound. Musically, he's not taking chances, but the craft is solid enough.

The lyrics, however, need work. Moss is extraordinarily earnest, and he writes just the way he thinks. There's nothing hidden, no mystery in his lyrics. The songs read like polemics, and at times he forces his words into the music. That never sounds good.

My suggestion would be to take all the lyrics and use them as notes while rewriting. Find the magic that exists within the ideas (but not the words as expressed now) and bring them out into the songs. Oblique lyrics are always more intriguing than obvious ones. Or to put it another way, imagine if Pete Townsend sang "I don't think I want to be old. It's a lot more fun being young."

Pretty much Erik Della Penna and Dean Sharenow (nicely put together in the studio), who rip off bright, jagged chunks of rock. The dominant instrument is often an electric piano, but it's actually used correctly. Not as a mellow neutralizer, but as a rhythmic countermelody.

The songs themselves are intense but not overly raucous. The kind of sound that immediately beckons, and then turns on the listener with some wonderful dark imagery.

Darkness in the lyrics and the music. A real solid bit of writing, really. And the way Sharenow produced this two-man project (with a little help) is simply amazing. Sounds like a band playing live to tape. There is that electric, interactive feel. Quite a job.

Indeed, the care and talent exhibited on the album are inspiring. Top notch all the way around. Della Penna and Sharenow have a real knack for carving out little nuggets of gold, shining them up real purty for the jaded rock fan.

Sorta remarkable in that I've never heard a punk band channel the Stones quite like this. The references are just about all in the guitar lines, though the singer (uncredited) does have a few Mick-like sneers in him.

Kinda gives a nice new kick in the ass to that old-time rock and roll. It's not that the boys are stealing riffage. Not at all. It's just that Keith Richards would have been proud to write some of this stuff. And the precisely loose handling of the guitar is dead on.

Oh, but how about the rest of the equation? Solid, if more of a generic punk squall. Loose Lips really isn't anything spectacular when it comes to playing, but the band executes well enough. These songs do have the necessary oomph.

But it's the Stones thing that drives this for me. I mean, you'd think more bands would try something like this. It's a natural. Maybe I just haven't been listening for it before. I dunno. But Loose Lips sure do a nice little punk rock seance.

A rather unique mix of extreme and classic 70s metal. There is, of course, the novelty of the singer and the guitarist both being women, though to be honest that's not much of a curiosity anymore.

What is important is the music, and Mahavatar has created a unique sound for itself. Lizza Hayson sings in a very low range, and the husky vocals have some of that extreme edge. Karla Williams' riffage comes more from the late 60s and early 70s, melodic and powerful.

The key word here is power. Mahavatar presents its songs with polish and relish. These folks know how to get what they want. There's not simply potential here; there's great stuff.

Sorta the regular Manishevitz thing, if there is such a concept. That whole eclectic 60s-tinged sound with lots of jangly decorations. You know, horns, strings. flute, vibes, whatever works.

There's a collective spirit at the center of the Manishevitz sound, even if the songs are generally the work of Adam Busch. His cohorts spin the songs into spells that create their own space in time. Each piece is something like its own world of experience. The texture is so wonderful, it's easy to get lost.

And really, it's the feel of these songs that establishes the Manishevitz sound much more than the actual writing. The way that the different players interact with each other and with the ideas themselves. Like I said, there's this collective spirit that's hard to describe. It's just here.

Simply another album of songs from people who know how to make music that matter. Not much more to say than that, mostly because I can't pay a higher compliment. A must, in any language.

The sort of thick, overblown power pop that has kinda lost favor in the last year or so. At least, I'm not hearing nearly as much of the stuff, which means that maybe it is, indeed ready to hit the mainstream.

James Michael channels Cheap Trick as much as anything else, and that's a pretty good way to start. He doesn't particularly sound like Nielsen, etc., but that's just more of a feel thing for me.

Michael does overdo the layered vocals on the choruses just a bit. His guitar sound is thick enough to carry the hooks. But hell, I can forgive a little youthful exuberance.

And I can also forgive some overreaching in the writing department. Not everything Michael sings about is earthshattering, but he does have a bit of the anthemitis going on. Not enough to drag the disc down, however. Nope. A bit too much of the good times going on to do that.

Guitar-driven noise, though since the quality of the tape is pretty poor it's hard to tell exactly what Nete sounded like. The percussion is provided by a drum machine, and the guitar work is almost entirely rhythmic in nature. The vocals are spoken as much as sung, which lends the whole thing something of an early 90s industrial feel at times.

Clinton Green (the guy behind Shame File) is issuing these "Greatest Non-Hits" tapes in the hopes of keeping the music of now-defunct bands alive. It's a noble mission.

And there are sounds here worth saving. Nete does a lot more than crunch along in mindless fashion. Many pieces here are fairly abstract in nature and do deal with noise in the more traditional sense. The sound quality also varies (as would be expected on a set like this), but it rarely is very good.

There is more to music than pristine production and razor-sharp songwriting. Nete provides a most compelling proof that way. Travel to the edge, if you dare.

Oneida decides to quit mucking about with half-assed hooks and simply lays down some loud ass rock. Or, at least, dance around the idea of what "rock" really is. That makes more sense. I mean, these folks have never taken one thing straight on.

And boy, does this puppy shake. Lots of thick, fuzzy guitars and very little in the way of honey on top. The songs kinda churn and rattle a lot, sometimes coming to rest in slightly new territory, and sometimes not. Sorta like if Killdozer got a little arty.

Just in the lead guitar lines, which occasionally dance around unfettered. Mostly, though, this album is a pile of noise, punctuated by shouts here and there. God damn, it's so fucking exciting I can barely keep my shorts clean. That's not sarcasm, folks. I'm dead serious.

Oneida rocks. Hard. Harder than your dad ever was, knowhutimean? Big ass hunks of the rock hurled at a wall. The splats were captured on tape. Oneida rules. Dude. That ain't no lie.

Nice and crafted pop stuff, with just enough edge to give the hooks some solid character. Not particularly heavy, but with enough power when necessary. Gotta tell you, the hooks are stickier than degraded cellophane tape.

Four tracks, and all score big. Perforated Head hits each one dead on. The writing is sharp, the playing spirited and the sound stops just short of throbbing. Right where everything should be. I really have no suggestions. This is great stuff.

Well, maybe one thought. Perforated Head is right in the wheelhouse, and maybe it needs to edge a bit away from the center and define its sound a bit more. These songs are great. Spinning them just slightly into a more recognizable band feel would make them just about perfect.

Organ-driven ska that verges on reggae often enough. All instrumental, with the exception of a few really cheesy intros. Better than workmanlike most of the time.

The reliance on organ does bring to mind Booker T. and the MGs (and the comparison can't be entirely favorable, obviously). It is a great instrument to use with ska; it dances and scats almost as well as a singer might.

Indeed, the absence of singing provides a real opportunity for ace playing. The Rhythm Doctors don't always take advantage of this, but for the most part they manage alright.

A fun, if light, album. There's not a whole lot going on here, but it's hard not to enjoy the tunes. Nothing overly spectacular, but some nice party jams, in any case.

Instrumental in form, even when vocals intrude into the universe. I guess what I'm saying there is that these songs don't conform to the usual verse-chorus format. Rather, they meander around in the more abstract way that a lot of instrumental bands do.

Some truly long songs, too, including a near-12 minute stunner called "Echolalia... Curvilinear." An awful lot of ideas are spinning around these here parts, and they don't always connect in the most rational of ways. You gotta let go to see the underlying form.

Moving back a few steps doesn't help much. You've got to cede control to Schema, to let the band take you where it wants to go. Follow all the side paths. Don't let your mind try and impose some sort of false order. Like I said: Let go.

And then Schema will begin to make sense. The music works as a series of lines, but their points of contact aren't always sharp. There is as much parallel thinking as contrapuntal. Schema doesn't make it easy. But boy, does it satisfy.

A take on Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, complete with crowd noise and the occasional stolen guitar lick. There's a reference to the hippo (as opposed to the walrus). Even the studio sound is tres George Martin, though in a somewhat tinny way.

Really, the whole thing is tied to the Beatles and old rock and roll (there are also references to the Stones, the Kinks and doo-wop groups, among other things). Without knowing the source material, this album does not make sense. Period. The songs are alright, but really not much on their own.

More than 30 years ago, Frank Zappa led the Mothers on a thrill ride through a stilted culture and overwrought music, managing to parody the great even while creating lasting, relevant music. Shawn's Friends from New Jersey are jokey and crude for no reason that I can discern.

The crime here is that this stuff isn't even that funny. There's not even a transitory laugh to enjoy. Oh well.

Ragged, anthemic punk that's rather reminiscent of Rancid when the latter band gets into sing-along mode. The hooks are solid, though the songs are on the lightweight side.

They're just kinda throwaway. Decent enough for a listen or two, but not particularly memorable. The energy level is only middling (Sixer never really kicks the sound into overdrive), which really spells doom for me.

I just couldn't get excited. And that's the whole point of music like this. If there's no good kick in it for me, then the throwaway tunes just get thrown away. This is average, and Sixer's got a ways to go to break out of the pack.

Full-throttle, thick-throated punk pop tunes. Lara Kiang has a great voice for these tunes, just think enough to hint at the melodies contained within the music. Did I mention that this stuff really moves?

That's really the key here. 6X doesn't try to dress up these three chord gems. Instead, it revels in the beauty of simplistic power. Without sounding like any other particular band. These folks have style.

Not to mention an impeccable ear. The MC5 cover is of "High School," a song which fits the 6X band sound perfectly. Let everyone else kick out the jams. 6X is gonna be original. Without sounding forced or stilted, of course.

A simple joy, to put this album in the plainest terms. 6X doesn't try to reinvent punk rock or even take it into strange waters. The band just finds a nice niche for itself and bashes away. Keep on bashing this way, won't you please?

Jason Molina has kept the band together (or a band together, anyway) and recorded an album that explores the mystical side of life. I would've said "spooky" instead of mystical, but that seemed a bit obvious. A lot of talk about ghosts (including two title tracks) and spirits and stuff.

A natural fit, as this stripped-down country-folk sound already sounds haunted. The band doesn't take away that quality, but merely orchestrates the unease. As usual, Molina doesn't shy away from the use of unexpected instruments and unusual melodies. He's in fine form.

Still, this is a step away from the more commercial sound of the most recent Songs:Ohia albums. The lushness that occasionally crept into those discs isn't here. The arrangements and recordings are stark, almost bare. Every piece can be heard clearly, which also sharply defines that which cannot be heard (the spookiness factor).

Like I said, this album lands Songs:Ohia back firmly in the camp of indie heroes. There's not much change that this album will catch fire with the masses. It'll merely serve to inspire those who are ready for its message.

Atlanta oi boys who use a "Crazy Train" riff to introduce their theme song. Cheeky, to be sure. And Terminus City doesn't shy away from any of its targets. The chords slash and the lyrics burn.

It's easy to feed off the energy here. Just pick a song and feed on the adrenaline. Every once in a while, the boys reprise their "Crazy Train" habit, lifting a line from another familiar song. A joke? I dunno. The music just bounds out from the speakers. The sound is sharp, yet thick enough to carry the power of the songs. Just about dead solid perfect.

Terminus City doesn't worry about rules or anything else. The guys just strap it on and let the riffage fly. Who cares what lies in the wake when the destruction burns so quickly?

Four songs, four ragged but tuneful anthems. Quick and nimble songs with the hooks hotwired into the lead guitar lines.

Vaguely Irish in flavor, particularly on "Dirty Old Town," which lies somewhere between Uncle Tupelo and the Pogues. The sound is fairly thin, particularly in the higher ranges (the upper parts of the rhythm guitar are often not much more than fuzz). Not quite as full as I'd like.

But the blistering pace and great writing save the day. A thoroughly enjoyable set of tunes. These guys must be just amazing live.

Just a couple songs, enough to get a taste. 3crease uses a groove style for the verses and then shifts into a sludgy anthem sound (almost metallic) for the hooks. A bit jarring, to be sure.

Kinda like what some of the funk-glam bands tried to do right around the Living Colour crzae, though tending more to the extremes both ways. I like that the band is blazing a new trail. The songs don't quite work for me (within each style 3crease doesn't show much originality), but I can't think of anyone who sounds like this.

Interesting, at the very least. I think 3crease may need some polishing, but the basic idea has promise. Maybe if the sounds could be melded a bit more than they are now. A more natural confluence would probably tie the songs together better.

Accessible hard rock, sort of a modern version of Bon Jovi (or Collective Soul, I suppose). The songs generally build to a slow burn. They're built with blocky chords and the hooks are more muscular than pretty. Kevin McNamara is more a growler than pure singer, and the sound carries that post-grunge taint.

And yet, Tidewater Grain is just the latest hard rockin' band to come down the way. The songs come together pretty well, and the lyrics have something to say, even if sometimes they aren't as artful as they might be.

There are shouts out to the Who, the Boss and Black Sabbath. These guys aren't anywhere near those leagues, but they do know how to play by the rules. There's a version of a power ballad ("Rocket Ship"), a Diamond Dave-era Van Halen rocker ("Annie Helicopter") and plenty of blue collar blasters.

These guys have more personality than most of the faceless hard rock heroes wandering around these days. I don't know if that's a help or a hindrance, but hell, I had a pretty good time. I certainly didn't expect that.

A bunch of punkers get together to help the Pax Organization, an anti gun violence group. And not just any punkers, either. Dag Nasty, ALL, NOFX, Blanks 77, Youth Brigade, Pinhead Circus, Agnostic Front, Divit and 17 more. Plus 15 mp3s on the CD-ROM part of the disc.

Did I mention that every song here is unreleased? Yeppers. A whale-load of adrenaline and it's for a good cause, too. Hard to go wrong.

I just finished jamming through the songs, and most of them are great. I didn't hear any that outright sucked. Hard to find such a solid compilation anywhere. If it were ust the cause, I'd be recommending this. But shit, the music's pretty damned good too. A winner all the way around.

This collection is split into "dance/dub" and "festival stage" discs, though most of these bands are so deep into sound collage that even those distinctions don't always hold water.

Like the British Underground disc, this set is financed by the Arts Council of England. Hey, if that's what it takes to get these sounds out, fine by me.

Because just like the other Brit compilation, the artistic experimentation is high. These bands are not into copying someone else; they're into moving a wide variety of sounds forward. The ferment is tangible and exciting.

A wide-ranging set, utterly breathtaking in scope and intent. There's just about something for everyone, but this is no milquetoast arrangement. Rather, these bands take music to the edge. Where it should be.

You know, when music like this has government support (the Arts Council of England helped out), you know the country just doesn't suck. As any music aficionado knows, the U.K. is the source of some great new ideas. And the 14 tracks here show just how diverse those ideas can be.

Yeah, a good amount of the stuff is electronic. And it's utterly amazing stuff. These folks do things with beats that most only imagine. Nothing dull or straightforward. Everything on the edge and gaining.

There's also "post rock/experimental" and "experimental/post rock" stuff here (each track has some sort of genre label, though as those show, there's only so much that can be said about unusual music). Oh, yeah, and some hip hop, a little punk and more.

One of the longest-running compilation series just keeps on chugging along. And pay no mind to that title--Chapter Six is in the planning stage right now.

As the Deep Elm line-up shows (a line-up that includes many bands "discovered" in these compilations), the definition of "emo" keeps changing. The songs on this set bear a familiar resemblance to the ones on this first, but the lines of descent aren't exactly clear.

Which is what makes this series so valuable from a historical standpoint. It's easy to hear how bands on the street level are interpreting "emo" and thus continuously evolving the sound. Of course, this disc is also valuable simply from the musical standpoint. The songs, as always, are great. Which is enough of a reason for me.

Not quite so sprawling (or idiosyncratic) as the first My Pal God set, what this one misses in numbers is probably made up for in quality.

Plenty of My Pal God talent (Drums and Tuba, Emperor Penguin, The French Kicks) and lots of other like-minded bands (Oxes, Neutrino, Atombombpocketknife) lend a more coherent sound to this set.

The stuff generally (though not universally) lies somewhere in the emo-noise-pop realm, if that makes any sense at all. Well, and having a little fun with familiar, somewhat obscure and original holiday songs.

Not at all a standard sequel. This set tells its own story, and still advances the spirit of the series quite nicely. Try playing this one for your parents during Christmas dinner.

A lot of stuff from the TKO stable, and some licensed stuff thrown in for good measure. As near as I can tell, most of this has been previously released, but still, there's one hell of a raggedy punk mix tape going on here.

Yeah, it's just another label sampler. But since TKO specializes in punk with a bite, there's no shortage of energy here. The 25 tracks provide a nice overview of what it is that TKO foists upon an unsuspecting earth.

Probably more of a treat for those who aren't familiar with the TKO lineup, this set nonetheless stands quite well on its own. Blistering in the wind.

You know, sequels generally don't outdo their predecessors. But this Punk Chartbusters is bigger and better than the first two.

For starters, there are a few American (MxPx, Me First and the Gimme Gimmes, Samiam, etc.) and better-known European (Millencolin, No Fun at All, Snuff, etc.) bands on the set. The sound is better. Even the songs are better. There's even a version of "She Loves You" in German (one of two songs the Beatles actually recorded in that language as a tribute to their Hamburg days).

Everything from A-Ha to Frank Zappa, with plenty of non-American "hits" as well. There are 50 songs on this set, and most of them are great, spirited renditions of cheesy pop songs. That's right in the punk wheelhouse. It took three tries, but the folks finally got this idea right.

These guys have the lead track on the new Emo Diaries compilation, and they show a real desire for shaking up the emo universe. The first song is acoustic, the second a starkly crunchy staggering rocker and the third a wonderfully combination of fuzzy bass and ragged guitar chords.

So the first thing that can be taken from this is that the boys don't like to play nicely in the corner. How do they fit in to the whole emo thing, anyway?

Well, see, there is the rather stripped-down feel to all of the songs. And, of course, the trademark heart-baring that is about the only thing that really holds all of the bands within this "movement" together. The White Octave has a quiet intensity that gives this album a real emotional wallop. The thing never lets up.

And when that intensity is combined with wide-ranging influences and a need to explore the outer limits of music, well, good things are bound to happen. The White Octave never stops pressing, and that leaves me totally impressed. This one leaves a mark.

Impeccably-played roots rock. I mean, this stuff sounds great. The arrangements are solid. It's the rest of it that bugs me a bit.

First, the writing follows all the rules. There isn't an unexpected passage anywhere on any of these songs. The lyrics sometimes try too hard to make a point, to be relevant. Forced lyrics are a killer.

Still, this album is hard to rip excessively. The playing is amazing, and the production provides just the right stage for each piece. By the book there, as well, but it's a good book. Jeff Witzeman and the Jealous Housewives sound like major label talent. The material, however, needs some work.

This sounds like expert musicians who still haven't quite hit upon consistent artistic inspiration. There seems to be a heavy reliance on stock chord progressions and rhythms. And the lyrics just aren't as deep as they're presented. A very pretty package that's kinda hollow in the middle.

Boy, just what it sounds like. The Workin' Stiffs sling out some forceful blue-collar punk. Songs about drinking, fighting, ragging on the rich and some more drinking, just for good measure.

All pounded out with all the requisite anger and angst. There is a sense of arrested development in the very basic way that these guys write songs, but even that seems to fit the theme of the band quite well. I mean, would the Workin' Stiffs be a U2 cover band?

Of course not. These guys have a basic handle of their instruments and they know how to spew forth some wonderfully crunchy anthems. Goes down smooth with a PBR.

There's nothing complicated going on here. Just yer regular punkers whacking out a few songs. With more than enough attitude to please. Innovation? Get the fuck out of here. Just the facts, ma'am.